


The Only Hope for Me is You

by ritsuko



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Ending, Mentions of violence/character death but it's pretty vague, Minor Injuries, Monsters, Portals, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Swords, brothers in arms, feelings of worthlessness, how to save a life, i have to fix the bad end, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, more than friends, tired of life, worried friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22955428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/pseuds/ritsuko
Summary: Crookback Bog ending. Ciri never came back. Geralt has nothing left to live for.At least, that's what he thinks, until his pack mates come to help
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	The Only Hope for Me is You

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: I watched the Crookback Bog ending. Uhhhhhh nope. I didn't like that. 
> 
> So get ready for Witcher Boys working through near a century of issues together.

- _“Do you wish to die Witcher?”_ -

The Weavess' mocking tone echoes in Geralt's head, as he shakily pulls the gleaming silver medallion from the box. Barely aware as he slumps down onto a chest amidst the disarray of the mess he's made, clutching the wolfs head amulet between shaking hands. 

Vesemir's amulet. Claimed by Ciri. 

Now, both of them were gone. 

The man who had been like a father to him.

The girl, like a child.

His child.

A ragged gasp for air tears from his throat, makes him realize he's been holding his breath. Not that it matters.

He could save no one. His vision blurs and it takes a moment to realize his eyes are overflowing. Fuck. When was the last time he’d cried? It was so long ago he can’t even remember. 

- _“Do you wish your suffering to end?”_ -

He can feel them coming, the amulet round his neck and the one in his hand vibrating in tandem. Every single monster that the Weavess has summoned, despite her death, is surrounding the small cabin. Twenty? Thirty? Maybe more? 

_yes_

It's a small, broken thought, but entirely his own. All he can think of is Vesemir's broken body, Ciri's sad smile, Yennefer's tear streaked face and screams of rage that their daughter was gone. . .

And more, so much more. 

He'd always tried to do what he'd thought in his heart was right. Even when he should have fought to stay neutral. But he'd never been one to not get caught up in other troubles.

And now. . .

All he can think of are the faces of those he's let down. Those that have died no thanks to his meddling. He can't even rely on the thought of seeing Eskel and Lambert at the keep again, come winter. The former had made it clear he wouldn't go back, and Lambert had found some tenuous bit of solace in Keira.

The tenuous threads holding their lives together have been severed.

He couldn't hope for anything more from them.

The sharp angles of the medallion dig into the flesh of his forehead, and he uses the pain, relishes it.

If he'd never invoked the Law of Surprise-

He chokes a sob out lightly.

The thought of a life without Ciri is too awful to contemplate. Even so, he feels awful, greedy, as if his invocation of the law robbed her of everything.

It probably had, he thinks dully.

Her death is on him.

This is all his fault.

There’s a low hiss at the door. Nekker most likely. But he doesn’t look up- can’t look up, his hands are shaking so badly he can’t tell if it’s the amulet or if he’s just rattling apart. 

_yes, PLEASE_

It’s cheap: a coward's thought that’s been ever growing in the last week. 

_let it end_

Ever since Ciri failed to come back out of the portal. Since Avellac'h's barrier had dropped and Yennefer had come rushing in, screaming her dismay. That he had failed. That their daughter was lost to them forever.

Maybe this is the only way. 

He can’t ever hold her body. Can’t lay her to rest. All he has is this small piece of her, that was only hers for a brief moment. 

Maybe there is nothing left. If the world is doing to die, then maybe there is no point anymore.

Claws scrabble on wood, and his muscles tense out of pure instinct. He forces them to relax. It's a fight against his ingrained training, but he closes his eyes, allows his shoulders to slump.

No one put Ciri to rest.

No one should put him to rest, either. 

No Witcher ever died in his bed, after all. 

***

“Geralt is not in a good way.”

Eskel doesn't even look up from his task. If there's one thing he's tired of, it's sorceresses. Mostly, this raven haired pain in his ass. “Can’t imagine he would be, all things considered."

“He won’t speak to me.” Yennefer states coolly through the megascope, and the Witcher has a twinge of satisfaction _Good_ , he thinks to himself.

“Still, not surprised. You two run as hot and cold as bathwater in a Novigrad whorehouse.” Eskel mumbles, but it's loud enough for her to hear. He can practically feel her stance shift, even through the megascope. She's not impressed.

Oh well, he's not her boy toy puppet. He doesn't owe her shit.

“Eskel, I expect this kind of backtalk from Lambert, but not you.” She remarks coolly, almost drawing a chuckle from him.

“What can I say? Not much seems to have a purpose anymore.” He grimaces. Word had traveled fast. The White Frost seemed to have ceased, but Ciri was nowhere to be found.

Eskel knew that honestly, the little ashen haired spitfire was gone. His heart lurches painfully, but he pushes the emotion down. 

He just can't think about it.

Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

Yennefer bites the inside of her cheek, eyes narrowing. “Look, Eskel, you don't like me, and I don't care about you either way, but we do have one thing in common: our feelings for Geralt."

Eskel stiffens slightly, rope going slack in his hands.

Fuck. 

Trust Yennefer to be nosey enough to get into his head.

She continued, nonplussed. "Geralt is going to die, you fucking dolt. All things considered, I would have thought that you would care more about him.”

Eskel pauses, back to her. “Yennefer-“

“Save me your ‘Witchers don’t have emotions’ bullshit. I can read your fucking thoughts, Eskel, as I’ve read his. I can’t get through to him, and you are the only one he is going to listen to. Unless you want your last goodbyes to be whatever you two said around Vesemir’s pyre.” She pauses a moment, eyes full of rage. "Honestly? Leaving Kaer Morhen once and for all? No wonder he feels he has nothing left!"

The scarred Witcher’s breath catches in his throat, finally turning, a look of anguish on his face. “Where-“

A portal is already opening behind him. “Crookback Bog. Please hurry. I cannot hold the shield much longer."

He turns to look at her, his golden eyes catching her violet ones, and sees the sadness, sees the concern, the regret. This hasn't been easy for her either. Of course it hasn't. With a terse nod, he dashes through the open portal.

~*~*~*~*~

It's a fucking nightmare.

There's got to be a hundred monsters converged on a small shack in the middle of the swamp. He can see the bubble of Yennefer's shield glowing from inside it. 

Fuck. 

What the fuck is Geralt doing?

A ghoul turns and hisses at him, but he exhales, focusing on the shack. He'll need all his wits about him. It jumps at him and quickly he draws Aard in the air, the magical sign blasting the creature back into another ghoul and a nekker. Most of the monsters are focused on the barrier, but some turn towards him with a snarl. 

_Slash, slash, pirouette, evade, slash, stab. Dead. Duck, roll, jump up, slash, slash, stab. Dead. Pirouette. Stab. Lucky strike. Dead._

It goes on and on, bodies fall around him, but not enough, not nearly enough. Blood washes over his arms, his legs, and fuck, he's tired. He's not even sure how much is ghoul, nekker or worg blood, or how much is his own. But he can see inside the hut now, see Geralt-

His blood turns cold.

Monsters are thrashing against Yennefer's protective bubble, screaming their fury. Inside the blue light, Geralt is just-

Sitting.

Sitting with his hands clutched to his face. 

The sight is so off, so not Geralt, that all he knows he has to get to him, no matter what.

He can see the blue shield faltering, and swallows. There are still at least ten yards between him and it.

"I don't know if you're still reading my mind, Yennefer, but hold in there. A portal out of here would be great. Right next to Geralt. If you can." He mutters, smiling wryly. "Or I'll see you in hell if I'm just talking to myself."

Quickly he casts Quen on himself, followed by blasts of Aard and Igni, pushing the monsters back from him. Many of them screech and scream, clawing at his shield.

_Twenty more feet, Fifteen, Ten-_

Quen breaks, and something stabs him in the ribs. Eskel roars in pain. The heads of several monsters shoot towards him, leering hungrily. 

Fuck. Not like this. Not fucking like this! 

"Geralt!" He screams, but the other man doesn't even register it, doesn't look up. With a curse, he thrusts his silver blade backwards, and is rewarded with a screech of pain. Something is still in him though. He can feel it, hanging limply against his back.

His fingers shakily bring Quen up again, but it's weak, it's not going to-

A hand closes around his wrist.

"I got you." Lambert's voice cuts through his senses, and he doesn't know that he's ever been so happy to see the other man. He's pulled to his feet, and the younger Witcher presses back to back with him. "Just get to Geralt. I got this side." He states grimly. There's an inhuman howl and a splash of blood as Lambert's sword connects with something.

"How-"

"Don't talk. Yennefer. We have to get out of this shit show. She's gonna portal us out when we get to him. Hurry though, she's not gonna keep it up forever." 

Eskel manages the last few feet, slashing at ghouls and nekkers enough to get them to stay at bay. Yennefer's shield around Geralt fades, and within seconds, a portal opens next to the silver haired Witcher.

"Geralt, come on, we have to leave!" He croaks at the other man, but he doesn't even look up. With a frustrated growl, Eskel grabs him by the sword strap and tugs.

". . . leave me."

"Are you fucking nuts?" Lambert yells, a werewolf managing a good swipe on his now bleeding arm. "Get through the portal you asshole!" 

Geralt refuses to move.

Eskel looks helplessly at Lambert. The portal is starting to close.

He has no choice.

He casts Axii. 

"Geralt, get your ass up and walk through the portal right now." He growls, pleads, at his brother-in-arms who won't even look at him. "Fucking please!"

There's a brief pause, and he wonders if it's even worked or not. Then he slowly rises, too exhausted to fight the mind control, and walks obediently through.

"Come on Lambert!" Eskel grits out, and they both jump through. The werewolf follows, only to be split in half as the portal snaps shut on its torso.

The wolf's head rolls into the Kaer Morhen courtyard, eyes illuminated and dull. Eskel breathes a sigh of relief, even as pain shoots up his back. Lambert grumbles behind him, rising to his feet.

Looking up at Geralt, Eskel pauses. The other man's face is tear streaked, worn, eyes as lifeless and hollow as the dead werewolf's.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm orcbae on Twitter, Instagram. . . uuuhhh, I think that's everywhere I haunt most, if you care to follow.
> 
> Also, hell yeah all the chapter titles are gonna be MCR songs.


End file.
